Wednesday, 16 October 2013

In the middle. In the middle is how I will describe this
while I wonder if I will try to erase this from my mind later on in life. In the middle of a dark past and a bright
future is when I struggle to block out the memories. Just like my siblings. They
try, too. We all try. But it never really leaves. You always remember and your
eyelids are always struggling to stay dry when you’re in the middle.

All my secrets cannot forever be holed up in my head for the
sake of maintaining a normal front in society. One day they will spill over.
One day the floodgates will break under the pressure of wet eyes and stories
untold, and one day, the whole world will know what we concealed in our hearts
and minds even though it almost drove us crazy as her, crazy until we broke in
front of family and friends who left because they got busy and all we really
had was ourselves, me and my sister.

Erasing the middle, I wish I could tell you how it was. It’s
like knowing your name begins with an S and ends with an H but there are blanks
spaces in between, blank spaces and you don’t know what you became in the
middle, what changed and gave you courage, courage to run away from this, run
away from home, run away from her. Run away even though the voices in your head
called you a coward for not fighting back, not standing up for him, run away
because you’re brave enough to confess to yourself that you have no strength against this.

Screw the stars for promising us a better future, for making
the skies look like they were shining for us and screw the world for telling us
everything would be alright, happy endings are only in chapters that lead to bad
beginnings. “You don’t know.” He sighed
and I wish I could tell him I did. I did know of pain and terror of a very
exquisite kind, something he would never know of.

Erase the beginning because that’s where it all began. Erase
the beginning, erase the moment you were born from the pages of the history books
of the world because that’s the only way to escape the middle. If it wasn’t for
the beginning, you wouldn’t have found yourself here, here in the middle.

The middle. Where you define yourself with words called
adjectives to give yourself a ground to stand on. And you can stand as long as you believe the
lies the voices in your head breathe, the voices that everyone else believes.
But when you realize you’re here in the middle and you don’t want to be here
anymore, you notice the cracks in the ground before it gives way to your feet.

When you realized it was all a facade, and it wouldn’t hold
any longer.

When the past finally caught up to the beautiful middle and
ruined it. Despite all your efforts to run, run, run away from it.

I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to be patient.

I’m sorry this really has no beginning or end, but I’ve
stopped trying to make sense.

Sunday, 6 October 2013

In that rush of time and breath between the seconds our eyes connect and our minds find each other behind the veil of our features, I find myself perfectly content. I chased a spirited dream along the boulevard of hope and death crushed my rose tinted beliefs in the cold, hard hands of truth, leaving me a jaded cynic lost in a time warp, unable to breathe or live easy for the fear of it happening again. Unable to hope, unable to dream. I was running in circles for an illusion I did not have the strength to stomach or the courage to brave. I proved my incapability in front of the silent watchers yet again and we both detested ourselves for it but our pain was already inked in the hands of fate, it was too little and far too late for change to make a difference.

Forgive me, but I succumb to the devils of temptation and desire, to the fires they ignite in me and the ideas they incite in me. Recall my faith in you, it will help you survive the night , and you cannot reach the dawn save by the path of night. And when you don't miss me any longer, remember that I loved you once, with a fiery passion you failed to return except when you were consumed by your temper and I was consumed by my grief. I cried because it was easier, easier to let it out than to bottle it in but I have nothing to weep for anymore and no one to hold me if I did.

Connect the dots for me, I beg you, because I fail to understand, or I'm afraid to. You spell out your intentions in a string of words laced with malice, the end product of your anger and frustration at me because I could never be who you wanted me to be. I'm sorry, I whisper because I feel like it will make things better and make you a little less angry but it does not matter, you were not made to be moved or mollified, and you wave your dismissal without gracing me with a glance. I refuse to leave, feeling short-changed on forgiveness and because my apologies never come forth easily, and when they do, they're sincere enough to elicit a spark of affection, even from your stony heart. You refuse to yield and you swear you haven't changed but I know better. I knew you when you were human enough to love and you loved beautifully. I remember when you let passion make your promises for you and mischief danced in your eyes, when you whispered honeyed strings of words and kissed my hands like there was no tomorrow. And so I withdraw but I refuse to leave, I shall wait out the grief, I shall wait for the empath in you to claim your heart again, snatch it from the cold depths of your chest and let you love again, live and believe again.